The Chronicles of Passing
by JeminiaMoon
Summary: Different character deaths, told from Death's point of view.
1. Introduction

"_To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."_

_-Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

Every person dies. It is a human flaw that incorporates the sudden termination of life into Earth's cycle, a mistake that the ones still blessed with a beating heart have been trying to evade for millennia. None have succeeded save for the few that have successfully extended the period of living maybe a blink longer, when the length of the world's existance is observed. Immortality has long been the grand goal of renowned alchemists and wizards throughout history, but no human has received a never-ending life as I did.

Yet every individual's parting from the world is as unique as the qualities that he or she possessed in the period known as a lifetime. Some go peacefully, slipping soundlessly into oblivion; others reluctantly, screaming in agony and begging for life to go on, and still others never feel my hand sweep them up…at least until a later date. There have been human accounts of the last feeble breath of departing souls: like a quill losing ink, the final intake is stuttered and halting, until it makes no marks at all.

But no one knows death better than me.

* * *

**Idea for the POV is credit to Markus Zusak, author of The Book Thief. (Wonderful book, by the way.)**

**So, what do you think? Remember to review!**


	2. Voldemort: He-Who-Feared-the-End

_~~~~Voldemort~~~~_

Needless to say, he was one of those categorized as 'reluctant.' The shield that he built around himself was, I must admit, admirable, a protection giving him no fear of death. His confidence was absolute; he truly believed that none knew of the pieces of soul encompassed in the magical objects. He had not anticipated the brilliance of Albus Dumbledore. Nor had he seen the courage of a certain Harry Potter.

I had observed his fear when he learned that his precious Horcruxes had been revealed. His pain was a wound worthy of death; if he had still been more of a human, I would have undoubtedly paid him a visit. Still, the treacherous path of killing Lord Voldemort was a difficult one to tread, yet not impossible. Harry Potter, one who is not afraid of being carried away in my arms, followed to trail to the end. He ultimately sent Tom Riddle to a place that had not been captured in his worst nightmares.

The world seemed to relax as I swooped and twirled the mighty Lord into gnarled fingers, carefully completing the process that would separate his considerably weak soul from the inhuman body that it inhabited. This was the most difficult phase, made no easier by Voldemort's struggling to cling to a last shred of living that was not there. I do possess a voice, and this was a rare occasion that it was heard.

_It is no use fighting. You have been claimed by Death._

I held an image of the Dark Lord in my black tendrils of hands. He had not found a voice, not in this damaged state, weakened by the last attempt of life and loss of a body, a case of protection. Though some found time for a final action at this stage, his condition was poor. I saw his misty features blurring and blackening, until he was nothing more than a faint shadow, and it seemed that the painful process had been completed. I slipped out of the scene, for many more than Lord Voldemort suffered a demise today.

Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle, was truly gone.


	3. Bellatrix: Fighting a Lost Battle

"_Death is a mirror which reflects the vain gesticulations of the living."_

_-Octavio Paz_

* * *

~~~~Bellatrix~~~~

It was fitting to see one so bold and defiant in life receive a meek and condescending death. Molly Weasley, to her, was always a woman of lesser value, one to be placed below her pureblood ideal. Yet this supposedly weak blood traitor delivered the blow that was the end of Bellatrix's living.

Crazy, the Wizarding world called her, and they were certainly right, proved when I paid our dear Bella a visit. Death had changed none of the reckless spell-casting and wild shrieking routine that she constantly performed, the one that usually ended in the death of one or more people in her vicinity. But now, it was the caster of the curses who had received her toll at last: avenged were the many who had died or suffered by her wand.

I pinched her between my twisted fingers, trying to ignore her raucous screaming as I flicked her, literally, out of this world. Watching her floating away, further and further, until she was just a loud-volumed speck (for she had not ceased her yelling) among the clouds, I was shocked that one could resist the end of life so much, even after it had already come. Bellatrix Lestrange, that day, had given a new meaning to a battle fought after it was already lost.

* * *

**Thank you to all my reviewers! I have seven reviews so far; let's make that number higher!**


End file.
